Hipbones and Bruises
by skeletonletters
Summary: Germany can recall parts of himself that even he doesn't understand.  His love for Italy runs deeper than he realizes, but he has to discover these things before it's too late for them both. Set after World War II.
1. Thoughtless

He was pretty like a girl but with an edge to let the world know. Sun kissed skin that radiated heat and a face to break a million hearts. This was the nation that Germany fell in love with, that stiff and unmoving power.

There was an energy about him that caused a glow and shadow to fall, and Germany would sit back and drink, watching the little nation whir and captivate his fans like a new toy.

"Que vous etes tres belle, ma petite!" Germany heard France cry, taking a sip of lush red wine. The wars were over and at last they were at peace. Even Japan, still healing from such a cruel wound, made polite conversation with a sheepish but still proud America.

"Ve – I am not a girl, France, don't use such feminine words," Italy huffed, sensing the changes in his grammar. France laughed and kissed the fair cheek of the pouting boy, and everyone laughed.

All except Germany, who just watched with that longing in his chest and burning in his cheeks. The food came and all nations let Italy have his way, enchanted. Pasta night seemed to be the only acceptable thing when little Italy was around.

When Italy finally graced Germany with his presence, it was later in the evening. The nations were drunk off of brandy and sake, near to sleep and words falling out of their mouths in low rumbles – bar the occasional outburst from one temperamental Romano, of course.

"Hi, Germany – you haven't talked to me all night," Italy pouted a little, cheeks posing a soft blush and illuminated by the candlelight. And equal flush spread on Germany's cheeks, although hardly from the taste of liquor and cheer. Germany held his own.

"You haven't talked to me," Germany reasoned equally, taking a sip of his Yeager. Italy giggled and watched as England fell on his side, completely gone.

"Ve, this is true. But Germany, I was waiting for you to come to me! Sometimes it's good to play hard to get," Italy scrunched up his nose when he smiled, and Germany could see why so many hearts went out to that peaceful, bubbly country. He also tried not to pay mind to his outward flirting.

"Look at your brother, Feliciano," Germany nodded over and made the boy laugh – fighting with Spain as their faces got all together too close to one another. It would always be that kind of love, with hitting and kissing and lots of anger.

"Oh, yes – they do love each other, don't they?" Italy's smile looked a little sad as he watched the two flirt and fight, biting his lip. "Ve, we should all have someone like that, don't you agree, Ludi?"

"Sure, ja," Germany waved his hand, feeling the flush reach his neck. "Everyone has something to love."

"What about you, Germany? Do you have that something …?" Italy's face was nice and close, to the point where Germany could feel his warmth and pretty breath on his cheek. It kissed him and let him almost taste – almost.

"Yes, I do," Germany said, a little wistfully. There were things he was able to recall during war that made him question everything – reality, his own existence. Past lives as other countries was not unheard of, that's for sure. Pressed up against Italy during the nights he was scared of the bombs, Germany was able to remember things. "From long ago, but the love is still very strong."

"Well, who – or what," Italy urged, pressing closer. His eyes were so bright and Germany could count all of his eyelashes, each long and thick and unique. There was not a part of the country that Germany did not like, did not find himself treasuring.

"A little maid," Germany said simply, eyes becoming unfocused. Hazy images of a tiny body dressed in thick skirts flashed in his vision – a little boy treated as a girl, dressed and made to work, although always underfoot.

"Oh," Italy said, biting his lip and looking down. He was crestfallen, but too quick to pick himself up. There was a missed beat in conversation that Germany did not quite pick up on.

"I'm sure she was very beautiful, then," Italy said, smile looking wobbly. "Anyone to be worthy of Germany must be very, very beautiful and good."

This made the usually stoic face of the German crack into a smile, and he tousled the auburn locks of the lithe boy beside him. "Beautiful is the wrong word," he said still burning a little from this mass proclamation. "This made was perfect to me."

(Hi! I'm Ceilidh, I'm skeletonletters on Tumblr and I just wanted to try out writing some fanfiction, idek. It seemed like a good idea. WELP, I'm just writing this for God knows what reason and I haven't even finished watching Axis Powers Hetalia so there's that, but I still really, really like Germany and Italy together from doujinshi that I have checked out. And I like the whole idea of HRE being Germany, I think that's great, too. It's also my first time writing in this fandom, hurray! This is getting long now, so feel free to read and review, more chapters are coming! Also, I don't really know how to use this website, but I'm figuring it out!)


	2. Wordless

"Germany," Italy said, long nightshirt coming past his thighs. The room was quiet, the lights flickering and casting broken shadows on the wall. Germany was so confused, could have sworn it was a dream or something even better. "Germany, Germany. Please, wake up."

Germany groaned and rolled to the side, trying to understand the nation's words through the mess of sleepy haze. He was still drunk somewhat, and just happy that Japan had been kind enough to allow a few of them to stay. "Ja, Italy, what is it?"

He set the candle down on the bedside table, then bit down hard on his lip. "Let me sleep here, Germany," Italy whispered, already nudging Germany to shift and make room. "Please, Germany, let me in."

Germany felt the same bit of strange embarrassment coursing through his veins and to his cheeks, but something about the tone in Italy's voice was frightening. His eyes were big and bright, even in the darkened room, and his breath was short, panting in gasps.

"O-kay," Germany said slowly, allowing the lithe body under the covers. Italy's body was trembling, and Germany put a tentative hand on his lower back. He wasn't usually like this, although they had shared a bed before when Italy was afraid of the gunshots. "Is everything okay?"

Italy pulled out his little white flag from behind his back – a security blanket for when he was scared – and nodded, slow and unsteady. "I just didn't want to sleep alone," he said, and Germany hoped he was telling the truth. Never had Italy not been wholehearted in his feelings – his tears, his laughter, and his wants.

So, Germany let Italy's body shake against him, close and clutching and maybe unbreathing. There was a stillness in the room that left Germany wanting and unsure, hands finally stroking the sleep-tousled auburn hair. He tucked pieces behind Italy's ear, listening to him breathe. It must have been three or four in the morning, and Germany knew his paperwork was due at seven fifteen am, on the dot.

But it didn't matter, because Italy was there.

It kept reminding him of a time, of a different body and a different state of mind. Of his little hands (that maybe wasn't him) holding the tiny maid's, the food he gave to Italia when he was punished and sent off to bed. Germany traced the outer edge of Italy's earlobe, feeling him begin to relax and fall into sleep against him. Something was troubling the usually careless spirit, but Germany did not know how to react.

"Close your eyes and relax," Germany said, hoping not to sound to gruff. He could feel Italy's fists clenching and unclenching against the fabric of his tee-shirt, and it was making him nervous. "Sleep, Italia, please."

The Italian nuzzled his face into Germany's skin, making Germany's heart speed and his hands begin to sweat. "Thank you, Germany," he whispered, his name sounding holy as it rolled off of his tongue. He listened to the dull lull of Italy's breathing, until the steady breaths turned into quiet sighs of sleep.

"One day, mein liebe," he said softly, pressing his hands to the fairness of Italy's cheeks. "One day we'll have it all figured out."

(ahhh, okay, I know these are short, but they'll get longer I promise. Thank you for reading and reviewing!)


	3. Dulce et Decorum Est

"In all my dreams, before my helpless sigh, he plunges at me;

guttering, choking, drowning."

– Wilfred Owen

_If only you knew what you brother was doing to me_, he thought as he chewed at his fingernail. The split ran a tiny drop of blood down his thumb and to his wrist. Italy licked it off and tried to make reasons in his head.

Yes, it hurt. It hurt when he woke up in the morning and could not feel himself. Like his insides had been vacuumed out and he was just a slick wad of skin and bones. Sometimes he felt like everything was wrong – it did not happen very often, but when it did happen all he could think of was the deep-rooted pain that seemed to haunt his joints for days after.

But even worse, he could remember the pleasure.

And that was a whole new thing he did not want to experience. Because it did feel good – so good, in fact – but it made him feel disgusting. And Italy was not someone who was offended, hurt, or minded getting dirty. It was a whole new dirty, a kind of dirty that made him want to lather himself in Clorox. Italy hated having those kinds of thoughts; dark thoughts, scary thoughts. He was not the type to lie.

Prussia knew that, too, and fed off of it. Asking him why he said no when his body didn't lie, when he was just swallowing him up, when he was moving like that against the bedsheets. And through the slick haze and through the bloody sheets come morning, Italy could remember that it felt so good. Like nothing his body – once untouched – had ever felt before.

What was worse was that Italy had ways of coping. To close his eyes tight enough and trying to remember the smell … of Germany. The taste of Germany's fingers in Italy's mouth when he licked the sauce off of them. The rough voice of Germany when Italy woke him up too early, his scolding. He couldn't bring himself to pretend that it was Germany doing those things to him, but it did … it came to him, at times. Times where he felt especially sick with himself, it came.

"What is it, Italy-kun," Japan snapped him back into his own world, as if in a daze. "You've got some gelatto on your arm."

Italy looked down and saw the sweeet white dripping against his skin. He licked the trail of sweet, leaving a faint trail of sticky sugar on his skin. "Sorry, I was thinking of having a siesta," he said, licking the half-melted parts of his treat away.

"Well, aren't you seeing Germany-san later?" Japan asked, neatly tucking his napkin into his pocket. "He always sees you at this time."

"Ve, I know that, but I feel like I'm getting in his way," Italy blushed a little bit as he spoke. Actually, Italy felt a little bit too dirty to be next to Germany, but he didn't want to say that, either. Because it hurt to think those things. Even if Germany had been with other people … it didn't compare to the betrayal that Italy had committed with his brother. Forced or not, Italy knew he was in the wrong.

"You know," Japan started, then stopped himself. He was pausing to think of the right words, which Italy always appreciated. "You know, Germany-san may act annoyed with Italy's actions, but I do not know where he'd be without them," Japan said softly, with the ghost of a smile. "He is a man of routine, you know."

Something about that made Italy's heart twitch, and he pushed Japan into a hug, hearing his surprised gasp and then a relaxation. Japan was usually somewhat prepared for Italy's shows of affections, and although it got in the way of his own customs, Italy was mostly the only excuse.

"I guess I should get going then," Italy reasoned, stuffing the rest of the ice cream in his mouth. Japan nodded and gave a slight bow to his friend, who waved loudly and they both separated.

The air was cool and calm against his flushed cheeks, and Italy wrapped Germany's thick grey scarf around himself. It smelled warm and soft, like Germany, and it made something in Italy's heart prick up. He really did like Germany, a lot. Talking to him, cooking for him … it had been hard, to get over the wounds of war, but together they were able to stitch themselves back together.

Italy wondered if he could be stitched yet again, and if Germany could even be the one to do it.

"Germany! It's me!" Italy flung his jacket over the couch and chucked off his worn little boots, tossing them onto the mat. Immediately, his dogs came forward, all looking up and hopping excitedly to see their favorite mother. "Ugh, dogs, come on," Italy giggled and patted their massive backs before making his way inside.

"I'm in here, Italy," Germany said roughly, voice coming from his office. His fingers were by his temples and the calculator was neatly placed next to the stack of paper, and Italy wanted nothing more than to distract his special friend.

"Are you almost done?" Italy asked, sitting on the floor next to Germany's seat. The mutt licked his face with content, knowing that Italy did like to stay by his side as Germany worked.

"Just … one more application, here," Germany said, signing off another paper before leaning back in his chair. "There," he said, satisfied. "How was Japan?"

Italy shrugged and smiled up at him. "Doing well, he says konichiwa – or however they say it," Italy stroked at the shaggy fur of the pup.

"Your accent is atrocious," Germany said, almost serious. Italy stood up and pushed the dog away from him, then stuck his tongue out.

"Silly Germany – listen to me, I have a question, and it's serious" Italy tried to sit on Germany's lap, but Germany blushed and held him off.

"Shoot," Germany said, wary. Serious could be anything from death to the next meal of pasta for Italy.

"O-kay," Italy started, opting a seat for the desk. "Does it still … hurt, when you think about the war? Like, physical pain."

Germany faltered for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Sometimes, yes," he nearly mumbled, staring at his hands. "I think what hurt worse was watching you and Japan suffer so badly."

Italy winced as he thought of Japan's burns, deep red against the white of his skin. "Sometimes I feel that pain very strongly lately," Italy whispered. Germany's thoughts rolled around in his head, and he literally shook himself, as if to eject the memories. The other night when Italy came into his bed had stirred him to think that maybe there was something wrong with his most cherished creature.

"You know I would, well -" Germany took a moment, like Japan, to find the right words. "I would do anything to make you not feel pain."

Italy looked up at him, dazzling clear eyes that always caught Germany by surprise on the best of days. "I hope so," he said softly, an emotion that Germany did not quite understand on the wrist of Italy's sleeve.

Startling Germany, Italy hopped off his desk, sending a single paper fluttering away. "Come on, Germany," Italy quipped, smile bright on his pretty face. "I want to go on a walk with the dogs."

And Germany stood up, wrapped around the sweet scent of a boy he had fallen too hard over.

(A/N: Aww! I forgot that I didn't update it, sorry for the delay!)


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